how to lose (to) a revolutionist in ten days
by failoutgirl
Summary: Never underestimate the desperation of two college kids who need to graduate.
1. an introduction

**introductions**

Éponine Thénardier is desperate to get through her last year of college — even if it means having to comply with her professor Valjean's wacky requests and challenges. As what she assumes is his last hurrah, the professor gives her a final assignment that will pay off pretty much all of her student debt: Éponine has to date and lose a guy within ten days. And not just _any_ guy.

The infamous 'fraternity' Les Amis de l'ABC have gotten on pretty much every single one of principal Javert's nerves, to the point that the ragtag group of boys are at a risk of being held back from graduating. This leaves their leader, Enjolras, at the mercy of the principal — who knows just how to bring a man of marble to his knees. Enjolras has to make a girl fall in love with him before the graduation ball, which is ten days away. But it's not just _any_ girl.

 **disclaimer/etc.**

all characters belong to Victor Hugo unless stated otherwise. heavily inspired by the 2003 movie _How To Lose A Guy in Ten Days_. modern AU of E/É.

genres include romance, comedy/humor, friendship, angst.

rated T for language & [suggestive] themes.

been a while since i've tried multi-chapter/worked on ffn, so bear with me! always open to comments, suggestions or violent reactions. first chapter -ish begins after this. _xo_


	2. day 00

**day 00.**

Éponine was sure that there was a time she looked forward to professor Valjean's calls, but she couldn't quite remember when that time was. Trudging through the layers of leaves that always seemed to blanket the university pathways, she tried to reassure herself that she was roughly a month away from graduating. _Just one more month, and I'm out of here._

It wasn't like Beaumont was a pain. If anything, it was an incredible feat for someone like her — something that would have been way beyond Éponine's reach, had she not been fortunate enough to snag her teaching assistant's scholarship four years ago. Professor Valjean liked the essay she wrote for her application and took her under his wing despite her sub par performance in the other fields, like her Arithmetic or Sciences. It was actually professor Valjean who helped enrolled her in her classes — linguistic, social and writing courses — to work her towards an English major degree by graduation. Éponine didn't mind. An education was an education; and if it payed out eventually... well, money was money.

"Oi, watch out!"

Instinctively, Éponine ducked. A ball of scotch taped, scrunched up newspapers the size of a melon sailed over where her head was a mere few seconds ago. Swooping in from behind her, a boy she knew as Courfeyrac caught the ball, managing to wink at Éponine before bolting away, a bloke called Lesgle right at his heels.

"One more month," Éponine mumbled to herself as she straightened up, distastefully watching the two boys play toss. "I just have to live through this month." But as she neared the professor's office, she already had a feeling that it would be the longest month of her entire college life.

 **x**

The sharp sound of principal Javert's infamous ruler slamming on his desk did little to shut up the snickers of the Les Amis de l'ABC. It was only when Enjolras let out a low whistle did they settle. "Well, don't expect me to thank you, Mr. Enjolras." the principal said spitefully. From the back of the group, Bahorel mumbled something along the lines of 'arrogant prick', sending another ripple of giggles through the group of boys. It took a few more ruler raps and whistles to calm them down again.

"I have tolerated your lot's shenanigans with more patience than any of you have deserved," the principal began sternly. "Over the past four years, you've had serious cases of damage to school property, vandalism, indecent public display of affection —" A few cat calls were directed at Courfeyrac, who merely shrugged it off. " — forgery, disrespect for teachers and other persons of authority... the list goes _on_ and _on_.

"If I'm going to be frank with you boys, I've turned a blind eye a couple of times in light of Pontmercy and Prouvaire —" (Marius' and Jehan's parents were big sponsors to the university. If Enjolras wasn't mistaken, Jehan's parents sealed a deal for a new library just a year ago, and Marius' mother was working on a more efficient economic system for the school.) " — but I truly have had enough."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Enjolras' mouth. Of all the things they'd done, who knew accidentally pelting a makeshift football through the principal's office was the last straw? Enjolras thought it would be their graffiti stunt in their second year, or the coordinated cafeteria flash mob in their third; definitely not something as simple as broken glass.

"We hear you loud and clear, sir." Combeferre piped up. "Same as always, innit?" Grantaire called out with a tinge of annoyance. Thankfully, he was sober. Enjolras didn't want to be slammed with a trifecta worthy of expulsion. "Detention over the weekend, community service, maybe be the student government's mules for a couple 'o weeks." Grantaire droned.

"Clearly, those punishments have taught you nothing." Javert snapped. He had an almost giddy gleam in his eyes as he gave each boy of the Les Amis a once-over. "But there's one thing I _can_ do that I'm sure will have you boys rethink what you've been doing the past years."

Enjolras felt the blow even before it hit them.

"None of you will be graduating."

 **x**

"Key in my code, Ms. Thénardier, and that'll be all for today."

Éponine glanced up from her computer set, unable to contain her shock. The usually eccentric Valjean seemed distracted the moment she walked in, and he'd given her an easy task for the day. Reluctantly, Éponine finalized her work with Valjean's code — 2-4-6-0-1 — and gathered her things. Still, Valjean remained pensive. Éponine could have gotten up and left, but something about the man's unusual demeanor made her stick around. "Professor," she called out cautiously. "Are you okay?"

Valjean seemed to be waiting for this question. He gestured wildly for Éponine to take a seat nearer his desk, and she complied, already slightly regretting that she'd asked him. "Éponine, what do you know about relationships?" Valjean asked as he wrung his hands together. Éponine blinked once; then twice; unsure whether he was waiting on a textbook definition, or a personal answer. "I don't really have a lot of experience with those, sir." she settled to answer. Montparnasse didn't count for anything, in her books. Valjean let out a heavy sigh. "See, my daughter, Cosette — you remember her, of course?"

Of course Éponine remembered her. She'd met Cosette on a few occasions, and the girl was everything Éponine was not; well-off, prim and proper, blonde and porcelain-skinned and beautiful. Which was probably why Marius chose her. Oh, Marius. The mere thought of him made Éponine's heart ache. She'd been utterly smitten with him since their first year. Understandably, she was devastated when he and Cosette started going out. (Just last week!) As much as she wanted to loathe Cosette, she couldn't find any rational reason to dislike her.

"Anyway, she's currently in a state of disarray. It seems that her — er, _boyfriend,_ for better terms — and her are on a break."

"They've broken up?" Éponine half-yelped. Valjean gave her a look, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. _Contain yourself, Éponine_. "I mean, sir — why aren't they together anymore?"

"That's the thing!" Valjean cried, exasperated. Leaning back in to his chair, he gave Éponine a look of utter desperation. "Cosette is at an absolute loss as to what she did wrong. I wouldn't know either — do I look like a man with relationship expertise? By God, how could she lose a guy in a week?"

"I could find out how." Éponine said absently. In her head, there was an endless chorus of _Marius is single, Marius is single, Marius is single_ ; she only snapped out of her reverie to find Valjean pointing his finger at her, back to his usual excitable self. "That's it!" he screeched. "That's _exactly_ what you'll be doing!"

 **x**

"That's insane!"

"My father will hear about this..."

"Can he even do that?"

Over the chatter and the commotion of the Les Amis (with Javert sitting back contentedly, visibly enjoying their distress), Enjolras caught Bahorel's eye. He asked the silent question, and Bahorel responded with a subtle nod.

In their first year, Bahorel took to memorizing the student handbook cover to cover, mainly to loophole through their pranks. Now, however, Enjolras knew that Valjean was capable of what he'd just said — that it was not an empty threat in an attempt to pacify their schoolboy antics. After quietly standing by, Enjolras knew a call to arms when he saw it.

"Settle." Enjolras commanded. The boys eventually did, leaving a room only rocked by sniffling sounds from Joly. (Poor Joly, always nervous about one thing or another.) "Cou and 'Ferre, lag back." Enjolras said in the most leveled voice he could manage. "Everyone else, wait out in the hallway." All equal in their distraught, the Les Amis shuffled out accordingly, not without shooting a few dirty looks and mumbling some obscenities at the principal. Grantaire, who had little to no disregard about school, flipped Javert the finger on his way out. Thankfully, Javert's amusement had been diverted to the three boys in front of him now.

Courfeyrac, the centre; Combeferre, the guide; and Enjolras, the chief.

The three balanced each other out well enough. They had formed the Les Amis as a free for all fraternity, open to any Beaumont student interested. This had produced some interesting results, attracting students from different backgrounds and with varying interests. They all had one thing in common: a great distaste for the way their university was being governed. Having established that, the handful of boys who stuck through the years worked around the system, chipping at its cracks and testing its limits. Courfeyrac was the one with the more manic ideas, while Enjolras was the one who measured out the pros and cons. Combeferre mediated between the two, although it was undeniable that he leaned more towards Enjolras' sense of rationality.

"The head of the school boys." Javert taunted Enjolras. Pursing his lips, Enjolras stood his ground. "I understand, Mr. Javert, that we haven't been the most organized of groups — " Enjolras paused to glare pointedly at Courfeyrac, who had begun to chuckle. The latter was quick to disguise his laughter as a coughing fit. " — but you cannot deny that we have some of the brightest boys in our batch, and — as you previously mentioned — some _generous_ beneficiaries. Surely you wouldn't want to cross their families?" Enjolras didn't want to pull the money card, but Jehan and even _Marius_ (for all the pretty boy's pompousness), might be their saving grace.

Javert looked unshaken. "The very 'brightest boys', as you claim, have brought more than enough trouble worthy of expulsion." he spat. Combeferre made a move to protest — possibly even rise to Enjolras' defense — but Enjolras signaled for him to wait. "We've simply seen some wrongs and have tried to correct them." Enjolras said. He was collected on the outside, but he was absolutely terrified in the inside. The Les Amis; though they made a show of not caring what anyone else thought; they still tried their best in their academia. They still had parents counting on them; wide-eyed and expectant and hoping to get a better life once their sons got out to work. Enjolras couldn't crush that for any of them. "Like I said, however, I recognize our faults. And I sincerely... apologize." The word damn near stutters out of Enjolras' mouth. Even Javert knows how rare of an occurrence this is.

"Finally! After four years, an _apology_ from the man himself." Javert exclaimed with a cackle. He wandered over to his table, fiddling thoughtfully with the framed photos littering his desk. A sudden thought seemed to dawn on the principal. "Tell me, Enjolras — have you ever had a woman?"

Enjolras raised his eyebrows in surprise. Glancing back to his friends, they stared back at him, equal in their confusion and amusement. "I can't say that I have, sir." Enjolras answered stiffly. "Perhaps that's the issue. A lack of a little love to warm that steel heart." Javert commented, flashing Enjolras a wicked grin.

"I will bypass your group's wrongs if you can prove to me that you, for all your tomfoolery and marble — have the capacity to feel. And that you can extend that capacity to others, as well. Time restrained to the graduation ball, which is — if I'm not mistaken, ten days away? — where you must bring this lucky girl, and ensure that they feel something for you. Specifically..." Javert pulled open his desk cabinet, staring straight at Enjolras as he leafed through the student folders at his disposal. Enjolras swallowed the lump in his throat as Javert randomly plucked out one folder and plopped it on to his desk. From either side of Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Combeferre leaned over to see whose student profile it was.

It was Éponine Thénardier.

 **x**

"Let me get this straight, professor," Éponine said slowly, her hand raised to her temple. Her head was beginning to throb at Valjean's near-hysteria. "You want me to try all the possible negative things a girl does during the start of a relationship; write about my experience, eventually; so that Cosette can comprehend where she goes wrong with her own interactions?"

"Correct!" Valjean announced proudly. "Oh, but it wouldn't be just for Cosette — research, of course — we could even hand it over to the psychology department! —"

"Professor, professor. Calm down." Éponine sighed. "But, with all due respect — " _Not that I think this assignment is crazy and illogical,_ she was on the verge of saying. " — why the deadline?"

"Because you're _graduating,_ of course." Valjean shot back as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "This isn't a personal favor. We'll make this your final writing assignment. This will be equivalent to all of your remaining debt — " "All of it?" Éponine echoed, staring bug-eyed at Valjean. The professor waved his hand dismissively, impatiently. "Yes, yes, _all of it._ Ten days to date a boy and see what drives him crazy, what's the last straw, _why_ they leave... yes, yes. A fascinating writing prompt. Unlike anything an English major has done before."

Éponine had some reservations, but she bit her tongue. The agreement had originally been that she'd stay an extra year under Valjean post-graduation to pay off the rest of her accumulated student loans, but if Valjean was serious about this flimsy stint paying off everything... who was she to complain? It would save her another year; would let her work earlier; would put food in Gavroche and her's mouths sooner.

Valjean had broken off in to another string of mumbles as he paced towards his window. After a moment of staring out on to the university, Valjean let out a sound between a laugh and a yell. "Éponine, come!" he barked, keeping his eyes on whatever he was watching on the outside. Éponine rose to her feet and dragged herself to the professor; surprise coursed through her when Valjean threw an arm around her shoulders, pulling her near him, and with his free hand, pointing at something. "Do you see that? Do you see them?" Valjean chanted excitedly. Éponine squinted, trying to follow where Valjean's finger was directed; it was _those boys._ The Les Amis de l'ABC.

"Do you see the boy in the middle?"

Éponine did. Squeezed in between Courfeyrac, who she had a brief encounter with earlier; and Comeferre, who she knew to be soft-spoken and a frequenter of the library; was someone Éponine recognized well enough. _Everyone_ knew who he was. Éponine didn't want to react, in fear of Valjean using her reluctance to his advantage. (He went on anyways.)

"I want your article to be _him._ "

It was Enjolras.


	3. day 01

**day 01.**

"That's insane." Cosette gaped at Éponine. "Your father's been known to do quite a lot of insane things." Azelma answered chidingly for Éponine as she set down a cup of coffee for her sister.

Éponine had recounted to her younger sister Valjean's writing assignment, only to have Azelma drag her to the dorm she shared with Cosette's. The three were an unlikely group of friends — there was a little bit of history in all of it, but they'd gotten over it. Azelma was closer to Cosette than Éponine was to her, hence the shared dorm. Éponine mostly stuck around by virtue of Marius. (Finding out that they'd broken up, though, left her with little motivation to interact with the girl she'd distastefully nicknamed 'The Lark'.)

"And you're supposed to do it to Enjolras?" Cosette asked Éponine, voice lowered as though they were sharing a secret. " _The_ Enjolras?" The way she put it made a Éponine groan. "Yes," she answered, unable to disguise her frustration. " _The_ Enjolras."

Enjolras had a first name, but no one knew what it was. He was the infamous Political Science major of their batch; he had come in to Beaumont as the only son of rich blood, all blonde curls and blue eyes, and had ended up sweeping hundreds of girls and professors off their feet. Éponine had heard them call him charming — charming, but capable of being terrible. During their second year, rumors circulated that he was gay after he'd quite publicly announced that he had no interest in women. His little stint didn't diminish his appeal in the least, and Enjolras merely resigned to shielding himself away from the public eye... that is, whenever the Les Amis weren't stirring up trouble.

For all Enjolras' icy demeanor, Éponine had to give him credit for the Les Amis de l'ABC. They were wild, and not in the typical sense of word — they were a group of around nine boys hell-bent on challenging the university's questionable policies and systems. Some of the most interesting protests that Éponine had seen (and been part of) in the past four years were of Les Amis' doing. On all accounts, Enjolras had spear-headed said activities; the chief, they called him.

"But isn't he..." Cosette trailed off, glancing warily at Éponine. Azelma sighed exasperatedly. "Gay?" she finished impatiently. Éponine cackled to herself. _Atta girl, Azelma._ "That was _so_ two years ago, Cosette."

"He hasn't been seen with anyone, though." Cosette shot back defensively. "At all?" Éponine asked, some parts curious. "At all." Cosette confirmed. "Which is a shame. I mean, he is quite attractive, isn't he?" Azelma and Éponine briefly glanced at each other, both not wanting to answer. "We came here to ask for help, Cosette." Azelma offered up. "Enjolras and Marius. They're friends, right?"

An identical flinch ran across Cosette and Éponine's faces. "Friends. Yes." Cosette answered distractedly, stirring her tea in an attempt to avoid Azelma's pitying gaze. "Well, did Marius mention anything about him? At all?" Azelma pried. Éponine's heart ached in the slightest, but she couldn't help but lean forward in rapt interest. She snatched up the little information she could get on Marius like fireflies.

"Not much." Cosette said apologetically. "Now that I think of it, we talked mostly about me..." Éponine let out a snort of laughter disguised as a cough. _No wonder._ "Oh!" Cosette stood suddenly, knocking over the table in front of her and splashing some coffee on Éponine's jeans. Azelma flashed her a smirk. _Karma,_ her sister mouthed, to which Éponine sneered and tried to pat out the stain on her pants. "Sorry, Éponine. But if it counts for anything, I think I know where you can find him."

 **x**

Beer made Enjolras' head ache, but he sure as hell wasn't going to accomplish Javert's ultimatum sober. "I am agog! I am aghast! Has Enjolras decided to be a drunkard at last?" Grantaire sing-songed as he nicked the bottle Enjolras had been working on. "Shuddup, R." Combeferre mumbled, sliding in to the seat at Enjolras' right. Courfeyrac occupied the one on Enjolras' left.

Enjolras had decided not to tell the rest, in fear of them trying to interfere. Courfeyarc's 'girl advice' and Combeferre's insistent worrying was already enough... and it had only been a _day._ Enjolras knew that he was operating on a tight deadline, but without any experience on relationships whatsoever, he planned on biding his time until the perfect moment. The first order of business was to steel his nerves; although he usually opted for coffee, he had a feeling that even the Café Musain's strongest brew wouldn't help him shake his jitters.

The rest of the Les Amis loitered around Musain's back room. In his first year, Enjolras had come to befriend the café's owner — Madame Houcheloup, a kind widow. Eventually, she'd reserved the back room for the Les Amis, under the premises that they wouldn't be too rowdy; that they'd always lock it on their way out; and that they'd order one or two things off the menu every time they used the room. The café became the boys' main headquarters. They spent most, if not all, of their time in the small back room, exhausting the Musain's caffeine supply during finals weeks and dancing with Madame Houcheloup whenever she threatened to kick them out.

"What's the game plan?" Courfeyrac asked, feigning coolness. Courfeyrac had always been the charmer of the group; few women took his more agressive advances seriously, because he was known to do no harm; but Enjolras could read the slight worry in his friend. None of them wanted to not graduate. "Getting there." Enjolras replied absently. "Do you know her?" Combeferre asked hopefully, to which Enjolras shook his head.

Éponine Thénardier. Enjolras couldn't say that the name was familiar. Javert had granted him a peek at her student profile, and he got only the bare bones of the girl he was supposed to woo: English major. A younger sister, majoring in Social Work. Both parents deceased. The picture attached to the file was of a girl with dark brown hair and chestnut eyes; only one part of her mouth smiled, her sunken in cheeks accentuating the gleam in her eyes. Enjolras couldn't quite shake her eyes out of his head yet.

"I think she's the same girl who had a huge crush on Marius," Courfeyrac offered. "Remember when I was rooming with Marius, before I moved in with Ferre? She was our neighbor at the Gorbeau House, and she was head over heels for the guy. Always following him around like a lost puppy."

"Great, a girl without standards." Enjolras said bitingly, to which Combeferre let out a soft hiss. Marius wasn't really a full-pledged member of the Les Amis de l'ABC; he had obvious reservations against what the Les Amis did by virtue of respect to his family name despite allegedly being disowned. Enjolras wasn't a big fan of Marius' apathy or romantic pursuits, but he let the boy stick around because the rest of the Les Amis seemed to be friends with him.

"Who're you talking 'bout?" Feuilly piped up, squeezing in between Combeferre and Enjolras. "A girl?" "If she hasn't got any standards, then she'd be just perfect for Courf." Bahorel called out from the game set the Les Amis had set up in one corner of the room. Courfeyrac chucked an empty paper cup at him in response.

"No one, Feuilly." Enjolras mumbled, making Feuilly shrug and stalk over to the window. "We really aren't going to tell them?" Combeferre asked. He sounded pained at the thought of keeping such a big secret from the rest, but Enjolras had made up his mind. "Don't want to scare off the love of my life, do we?" Enjolras said dryly.

"Oi, look. Isn't that Marius' ex?" Feuilly said from the window. Bored, Grantaired peeked out on to the street. "And the Thénardiers." Grantaire added with only slight interest tinging his tone. Enjolras shot up at the mention of the name — Combeferre was already up on his feet, stumbling towards the window. "What's this about?" Bossuet chuckled as Enjolras and Courfeyrac made their way to Combeferre. Enjolras watched Cosette enter the café — a familiar blonde blur he'd had to endure when she was dating Marius — followed by a flash of black hair. "Éponine." Combeferre confirmed quietly, and Enjolras let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

 **x**

Éponine passed by the Café Musain on an almost daily basis, but she'd never gone in. Their prices were a little too heavy for her pocket; besides, she was quite content with her meals of instant noodles and dispensed coffee. Nonetheless, the café smelled of baked bread and coffee beans — Éponine's stomach let out a low growl, and Azelma's mouth twitched downwards. They were all too familiar with hunger.

Cosette wasn't paying attention to the sisters as she marched up to the counter. "What can I get you today, Cosette?" a woman named Matelote — it said so on her name tag — asked Cosette, marker and paper cup poised and ready to take an order. "I'd like to see the Les Amis." Cosette asked. It was a disguised demand, but the way she said it; sickly sweet, smiling; made it sound like a request. Matelote faltered ever so slightly. "We can't really... they don't entertain visitors." she answered apologetically, eyeing Cosette warily before glancing towards Azelma and Éponine. "They've got a no girls policy." another waitress — Gibelote, Éponine picked up from her tag — hummed as she slid past Matelote with a stack of empty plates. "Only girl they let in is Madame Houcheloup herself."

"Is that so?" Cosette said, raising an eyebrow. "But Enjolras sent us." This seemed to surprise Matelote and Gibelote; Matelote set down her cup and marker, and Gibelote wiped her hands on her apron. "I suppose I can knock." Gibolete said unsurely. "Who should I say is here?"

"Éponine." Cosette answered. Éponine opened her mouth to protest, but the frozen grin Cosette flashed at her shut her up. "Tell him it's Éponine Thénardier."

 **x**

Enjolras was being hassled by Combeferre and Courfeyrac so much that he hadn't heard the knock at the door. Joly was the one who answered, stepping out to greet Gibolete. When he came back in, he looked confused. "Enjolras." he called out. Still trying to make sense of Combeferre's advice and Courfeyrac's worrying, Enjolras didn't hear Joly the first time around. Or the second. But when Joly half-yelled "There's a girl for you outside, Enjolras!", Combeferre paused mid-sentence and Courfeyrac choked on his drink, and Enjolras finally looked over at Joly. (Just as the rest of the Les Amis did.)

"A girl?" Grantaire echoed, disbelieving. "Is it his mother?"

"It's... Ep — Ep-oh — Pony —"

"Éponine." Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac finished for Joly. Several pairs of eyes turned to the three boys, followed by an outburst of questions... but Enjolras was already on his way out of the room.

 **x**

"Gibolete said you were looking for me."

Éponine looked up from the hot chocolate Cosette had bought her. Standing over her table was none other than Enjolras himself — one eyebrow raised quizzically, lips unsmiling but eyes amused. "Maybe I was," Éponine answered. Propping her elbows on to the table and resting her chin in her hands, Éponine smirked up at Enjolras. "What's it to you, bourgeoisie boy?" Enjolras let out a chuckle. "Bourgeoisie boy." he repeated, pulling out the seat from across Éponine and sitting himself. Éponine couldn't help but notice the laugh lines that crinkled across the boy's face when he grinned. All the times she'd caught sight of him, he was either frowning or stoic. "Can't say I've heard that before."

"Perhaps I could have a first name, so I can address you properly?" Éponine prompted, sipping her hot chocolate. Azelma and Cosette were seated a few tables away, peeking out at them from behind the Musain's menus. "Enjolras is fine for now." Enjolras assured, extending his hand. Éponine pursed her lips but took his hand anyway. "Éponine." she answered.

Enjolras leaned forward ever so slightly, placing a kiss on the back of Éponine's hand. Éponine's lips quirked up in surprise at the act of affection. It wasn't anything major, but from what little information Éponine had gathered on Enjolras, she'd figured that he wasn't one for sentiments. Éponine heard Cosette let out an audible gasp from behind her menu, and several loud shuffling sounds from the staircase leading to the back room — still, she kept her eyes on Enjolras. "It's a pleasure, Éponine." Enjolras said smoothly.

"Believe me, Enjolras." Éponine smiled. "The pleasure is all mine."

 **x**

"Did you see that? He _kissed_ her!"

"He kissed her hand, Joly. No need to overreact — "

"It was still a kiss! A _kiss_!"

"Lower your voices, dorks. I can't hear what he's saying now..."

"If I'm going to watch Enjolras try to flirt, I'm going to be needing a little more whiskey. Matelote! Another round for all of us!"

 **x**

Five hours in, Enjolras found himself wondering if it was really meant to be _this_ easy. He had initially intended to go straight at it — flirt his way in to her heart, just as Courfeyrac had advised — but his confidence faltered a bit post-introductions, and he found himself unsure on what to do. Thankfully, Éponine didn't seem to mind, keeping the conversation going with talk on a wide array of topics. After the first hour, Éponine's sister and Cosette walked by their table to bid Éponine goodbye. At the three hour mark, Enjolras figured he should offer to buy her a drink, or something to eat — they stopped mid-discussion on the pros and cons of monarchy to order two coffees and a couple of sandwiches.

By the time Gibolete asked if she could clear out the empty plates on their table, Enjolras was surprised to find that it was dark out. "We've been talking for five hours." Éponine said as she glanced towards a clock, equal in Enjolras' shock. "I'm sorry," Enjolras mumbled. "My friends say I have the tendency to run my mouth at times."

"Don't be sorry" Éponine said, giving him a look he couldn't quite read. "I like talking to you, pretty boy." Enjolras found a laugh escape him. "Bourgeoisie boy, pretty boy," he said amusedly. "Fond of nicknames, are we?"

"Quite." Éponine confirmed with a small laugh of her own. "I should get going. I've got an 8AM class tomorrow morning." Enjolras winced at the thought of the small horror. "An 8AM class is like going through the gates of hell." he commented, to which Éponine replied "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate" as she stood.

"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here." Enjolras translated, impressed. Glancing down at Enjolras with an upraised eyebrow, Éponine flashed Enjolras that smile — the one in her student profile. "Don't act so surprised. For us, Dante's _Inferno_ is a weekend read." "I bet." Enjolras shot back, standing up as well. He was at least a head taller than Éponine, but she carried herself to her full height. She was almost intimidating. (Almost.) "Just as the whole Bill of Rights is nothing but a bedtime story to me."

Éponine's smile broke out a little wider. "Tell me, Mr. Enjolras," she began slowly. "Do you believe that all is fair in love and war?"

Enjolras didn't care much for love, but he knew the answer to _all is fair in war._ The rules of hard play were acceptable in war, and he figured with what Javert had him doing, he'd be playing a fair game in love as well. "Yes." he replied curtly. "Good answer." Éponine said smilingly, leaning upwards.

It didn't immediately register to Enjolras that she'd kissed him — a peck on the cheek, but still a kiss nonetheless — until she pressed something in to his hand and whispered "I'll be waiting, bourgeoisie", walking out of the café, head held high. He had intended to offer — neigh, _persist_ — to walk her home. The feather lightness of her lips had shocked him, though, and he ended up just standing there, watching her rush out in to the night. (He could hear the Les Amis rioting in the back room.)

Glancing at what she'd left in his hand, Enjolras found one of Musain's tissues. A sketch of a stick figured Enjolras glared up at him (the elementary drawing had a head of curls — he could only safely assume that it was himself), along with a string of numbers. Éponine's number. She'd probably jotted it down when Enjolras was ordering for them. In hurried cursive, she'd written _your move, pretty boy_.

Enjolras grinned and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

 **x**

 **ENJOLRAS (9:43PM):** Good night, 'Ponine. :)

 **ENJOLRAS (9:45PM):** [Saved as draft.] You're already falling in love with me.

 **EPONINE (9:46PM):** [Saved as draft.] i'm going to make you wish you were dead.

 **EPONINE (9:50PM):** good night, enj. :)


	4. day 02

**day 02.**

Of all the things Javert had conspired of in trying to bring the 'Les Amis' down, he had to pat himself on the back for this one — this idea was _brilliant._

He had to give credit where credit was due, of course; Valjean had called him up while he was in a foul mood, babbling about his poor assistant's new writing project. _How to lose a guy in ten days,_ he had proclaimed proudly. Normally, Javert would have let it pass — would have merely chided the eccentric professor, warn him to take his medicines — but the Les Amis' makeshift ball sat in its crown of broken glass, and Javert had enough sense to ask who the unfortunate bloke was going to be.

Enjolras.

"What a coincidence." Javert had hummed over the phone as he leafed through the student files in his closet. Scholars, trust fund babies — teaching assistants. Éponine Thénardier was a sad little case; barely scrapped through the entrance exam, didn't have a dollar to her name; but Valjean had taken her in anyway. She was persistent, Javert could grant her that; from grading all of Valjean's students' midterms papers to replicating his thickest encyclopedias by hand, she did it all unfailingly. From what Javert had heard, her whole college life depended on Valjean.

When the Les Amis came in Javert's office to plead their case, Javert already knew exactly which file was Éponine's.

 **x**

 **ENJOLRAS (8:37AM):** How's the 8AM class going? :-P

In spite of herself, Éponine found one corner of her mouth tugging upwards. The gentle buzz of her phone in her pocket had jolted her awake from the state of drowsiness that she'd fallen in to. Keeping one eye on her professor, she keyed in a quick response — _2 cool 4 lit & philo _— before shoving the gadget in to her backpack. Her notebook lay open in front of her, her 'game plan' scrawled messily along the margins of her notes on Aesthetics Philosophy. It felt like it would be easy enough, based on how interested Enjolras already was in her. _Piece of cake,_ Éponine thought happily to herself as she jotted down another thing that could drive Enjolras insane.

A sharp rap at the door interrupted her professor's droning about Immanuel Kant. Making her way to the door, the woman heaved the door open — poor thing was a wheezy, frumpy old professor who should have long outgrown Beaumont standards — and conversed quietly from whoever was on the other side. Éponine didn't feel the need to pay much attention until she heard her name being called out; "Thénardier?" her professor called out to the lecture hall. Éponine raised a hand, and once the professor had caught sight of her, the latter said a word or two to whoever was outside the door —

And in came a bouquet of flowers. And then another. And then, a paper bag — (a peek inside brought forth the delicious smell of bread and coffee) — and then, as if the two bunches of roses weren't enough, a single sunflower. All these were brought in by the university's flower boys — the bored-looking college kids trying to get an extra buck by delivering for grand gestures — sans the sunflower, which was handed to her by a smiling Combeferre.

"My lady," Combeferre said gallantly, to which Éponine had to suppress an eye roll. "I don't suppose these are from you." she hissed, slightly embarrassed by such a grandiose display. Combeferre merely shrugged before turning his back on Éponine. On his way out, he curtsied to the professor, who granted him an affectionate smile. "A good boy, that Combeferre is." she said dotingly as the door closed behind him. Éponine watched as a flash of golden curls walked down with Combeferre in the hallway; reaching in to her bag, she grabbed her phone just as another text came in.

 **ENJOLRAS (8:45AM):** Just a little something to make your morning brighter. Sourire, mon amour.*

 **x**

Enjolras was pretty happy with the way the morning had panned out. He had been planning to just get her breakfast and a sunflower, but Combeferre encouraged him to go the extra mile — investing a couple of dollars in the bouquets ended up being a good idea, because the look on Éponine's face had been _priceless._ Enjolras had hesitated to go in to her Literature and Philosophy class at the last moment, leaving Combeferre to do the job. Nonetheless, he felt that her speechlessness was a good sign as he strolled in to the Musain for lunch, so cheerful, in fact, that he smilingly greeted the two waitresses on his way to the back room.

"The usual, _monsieur_?" Gibelote called out, looking charmed at the boy's unusual demeanor. "Yes, please, Gibelote!" Enjolras replied brightly before beginning to hum along to the quiet music playing in the café. Like the previous night, Enjolras wondered if it really was supposed to be this _easy_ with girls. Surely, there was nothing more to them than just flowers and chocolates. A small part of him wondered why he hadn't attempted to date earlier.

Stepping in to the back room, Enjolras was greeted with the Les Amis, all convened together at the table with uncharacteristic seriousness. The grin on Enjolras' lips faded and the hum stuck in his throat. "Did somebody die?" he asked coolly. "The old Enjolras did." Bahorel grumbled as a reply, forcing the rest of the boys to disguise their laughter as coughs. Enjolras' mouth pulled in to a sneer. "My next class is Comparative Politics." he threatened, pulling out his seat at the head of the table. "Somebody better tell me what's going on before I go in to that hellhole."

Combeferre and Courfeyrac shared a look, as though deciding which of the two should speak up first — neither of the two ended up talking as Jehan blurted out what everyone had been beating around the bush to talk about. "It's the talk of the campus, how you got flowers delivered for Éponine." he said, words tripping over each other. "And we saw what happened at the café last night — and 'Ferre and Cou' say they're sworn to secrecy — but we're your _friends,_ Enjolras, and —" Jehan faltered, the rest of what he was about to say only to be picked up by Grantaire.

"And friends tell friends things, _connard.**_ " Grantaire scoffed. Enjolras flushed, slightly ashamed at all the eyes directed towards him. "You've never mentioned her. 'Ponine." Grantaire continued, letting out a bark of laughter when Enjolras raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "What? Surprised that I know my gamine? I'm sorry if we're not all stuck up in the social ladder like you are."

"R." Joly warned, to which Grantaire promptly took a swig out of his cup. "Sedated, I see." Enjolras commented dryly — Grantaire was drinking coffee for once, and as extraordinary as that fact was on its own, Enjolras found that he had been backed in to a corner and that he couldn't quite say anything else. Grantaire raised his mug up in a mock toast. " _Bien sûr_ ***! If you are going to woo a girl, I will have to do my best to stay sober for it."

"That's quite enough." Bossuet said, putting out his arm to hold back Enjolras, who had stood abruptly. Enjolras had never been the violent type, but Grantaire had the tendency to get on his nerves every so often. _I'm doing this for you lot,_ Enjolras was on the verge of yelling. _I'm doing this to get your asses to graduation, and this is how you treat me?_

He was about to say something when a gentle knock from the door interrupted him. Madame Houcheloup peeked in to the back room, a curious expression on her face. "Enjolras, I really do hate to interrupt your meetings," she said, eyeing the scene — Enjolras, standing at the head of the table, with Bossuet holding him back; the rest of the boys shifting their gaze between Enjolras and a coffee-sipping Grantaire. "But there's a girl outside waiting for you, and she doesn't look happy."

 **x**

 _Show up uninvited._

"Look, ah, 'Ponine — now isn't really a good time..."

Éponine put on her best leer, so vicious that Enjolras wilted ever so slightly. Being tact in the art of conning involved a little acting, after all.

 _Make an unnecessary scene._

"What do you think _this_ is?" Éponine shoved the bouquets in to Enjolras' chest, the roses crushing against him and falling on to the floor in petals. The look on Enjolras' face was that of utter confusion. "I — I wanted to surprise you," he mumbled confusedly, eyes shifting uneasily to their growing audience of café-goers. "Do you want to talk? We can talk in the back room, or —"

"I'll talk where I want to." Éponine said firmly, planting her hands on her hips. "Okay." Enjolras glanced down at the bouquet that had been crammed in to his hands before looking back up at Éponine with a look of absolute sincerity. "What was wrong with the flowers?"

 _Be petty over a little thing._

"I _hate_ roses." Éponine said snobbishly, sticking her nose up in the air. God, she _hated_ the character she was playing — but if she was going to get Enjolras to leave, then she'd have to be as troublesome as possible. "Why?" Enjolras asked — seeming genuinely curious — and Éponine faltered a bit. She hadn't prepared for 'why'. But, oh — she could pull out her next card now. _Be unreasonable._ "You never asked, and now you question me _why_ I have _preferences_? Unbelievable!" Éponine let out a grating laugh, throwing her hands in the air as a show of exasperation. "We just started talking yesterday." Enjolras shot back impatiently. "Well, bourgeois boy," she poked his chest with a finger, reveling in the growing agitation taking over Enjolras' face. "Maybe _next time,_ you could be a little more considerate." Her voice lowered a bit so that only he could hear her next words. "This is why you never dated, huh? You know absolutely _nothing_ about girls,Enjolras."

 _Walk out during arguments._

Éponine strut out of the café, the sound of her heels clacking against the pavement and away from the Musain bringing her the slightest ounce of satisfaction. She was only on her second day, but she already felt as if she were winning. Surely, Enjolras would want _nothing_ to do with her after that...

"Éponine! Oi, wait up!"

A _what the fuck_ echoed in Éponine's head as she turned to face a harried-looking Enjolras who had, seemingly, come after her. "Look." he panted, his voice sounding pained. "Jesus, pretty boy. Breathe." Éponine sniped, uncomfortable at how distressed he looked. Enjolras flashed her a small smile of gratitude, taking a moment to catch his breath. "Right." Inhaling, Enjolras straightened up to his full height, the ruined bunch of roses still in his arms. "What is it then?"

"What's what?"

"What's your favorite flower?"

Éponine wavered, trying not to gape at Enjolras. "You didn't give the sunflower back." he prompted. "Do you like those?" "I — yes." Éponine said dumbly. Enjolras nodded, looking thoughtful. "Noted." he answered solemnly, taking a few strides to a nearby garbage can and trashing the bouquets. He came back to Éponine, running his hand through his curls. "Look," he began again, lips pursed. "You were right, about me not knowing anything about girls. But, Éponine, when we were talking last night, it was — it was nice. You're smart. I like it. I — I like _you._

"And I would quite like to prove that. Maybe — maybe we could go out? I'd say for lunch, but —" Enjolras briefly glanced at his wristwatch. "I've got a class at 1:00." "I do too." Éponine offered, not knowing what else to say. Enjolras gave her a small grin. "Do you still have an 8AM tomorrow?" Éponine shook her head, and, although she wasn't quite sure why she did, she blurted out that she didn't _have_ classes tomorrow. "My schedule is all clear on Wednesdays." she explained meekly. "I usually do errands for Valjean..."

"Give me tomorrow." Enjolras interrupted. "To prove that I like you. I know this is sudden and a little out of nowhere, but — but — we're graduating soon. And I thought — well —" he paused, looking irritated at how much he was stammering. "There's no time to waste." he said sternly. "Agreed." Éponine said quietly. A look of relief passed on Enjolras' face. "Is that a yes to tomorrow, then?" he asked, looking too hopeful for his own good. _Slow down, boy,_ Éponine wanted to taunt him, but if they stayed any longer they'd be late to their classes, and — quiet honestly — now Éponine had to think of a Plan B.

"I'll have to ask Valjean." she answered, crossing her arms over her chest. The smile that took over Enjolras' face made her heart hurt a little. Of course, Valjean would let her off — especially since it was for his dumb project — but she couldn't say yes right away. The uncertainty didn't seem to quench Enjolras' mood in the least. "Better maybe than no." he chuckled. "You'll call me, I hope? Or I can call you?"

"I can call." Éponine assured him. Enjolras nodded. "I'll be on my way then." he said, starting to walk back to the café. Éponine had started to walk away in the opposite direction as well, when she heard Enjolras say one last thing.

"I'll try to remember." he called out. Éponine turned half-way and caught sight of the simper that made his eyes crinkle up. "Sunflowers, not roses."

* * *

* _Sourire, mon amour._ — Smile, my love.  
** _Connard_ — Shithead.  
*** _Bien sûr_ — Of course.


	5. day 03

**day 03.**

Grantaire knew that he didn't come before Combeferre or Courfeyrac — they were Enjolras' roommates, after all — but for all it was worth, he had hoped Enjolras would come to see him as a friend nonetheless. Sure, he was always contradicting the boy; that didn't mean he _hated_ , though. On the contrary, Grantaire thought Enjolras was brilliant. He didn't care much for the Les Amis and their various 'causes'. He stuck around for Enjolras: an astute orator, a master at manipulation. He'd been a by-stander of the Les Amis for four years. Wasn't that a long enough time to gain their leader's trust?

Then again, Enjolras didn't trust just anybody, Grantaire mulled as he miserably guzzled his third cup of coffee that morning. Coffee didn't quite have the kick that beer provided, but he'd meant what he taunted; if Enjolras was going to _date,_ Grantaire would very much need to be sober to witness it all.

He knew Éponine. They'd grown up on the same street. She was the eldest of the rotten Thénardiers: the inn-keepers who always charged an extra buck whenever Grantaire was out to buy malt for his father. Grantaire had struck an unusual friendship with her, and he vividly recalled the day her parents got arrested for extortion; remembered the look on the Thénardier siblings faces when child services came to declare them as orphans. He didn't see her again for years, until he'd run in to her on campus. After exchanging pleasantries that involved him admitting he'd chosen his Art program because it was the easiest one out of the lot, Grantaire had no longer been able to contain his curiosity; he'd asked her how she'd gotten there, and she granted him a mischievous smile.

"Worked my way out," she had proclaimed. "I got Azelma and Gavroche out of the orphanage — 's a miracle how being _unlikable_ can keep ya in there. We're at Gorbeau now. It's not much, but it's enough." Grantaire remembered her pausing, her smile pulling in to something a little more serious. "It's home."

Grantaire had so much respect for her for that. They made no promises to keep in touch, but ended up occasionally bumping in to each other nonetheless. At Les Amis demonstrations, at the bars off-campus; they were always polite to each other, often picking up what they'd last talked about regardless of how much time had passed. In the loosest sense of terms, Grantaire could consider Éponine a friend — far more than Enjolras considered _him,_ any way.

"Matelote. I change my mind about this whole sobriety thing." Grantaire gurgled as the waitress came to clear his cups. "Be a dear and get me an ale, won't you?"

It made little to no sense to Grantaire, what was happening. But just as he had in the past years, he would do what he did best: trust Enjolras.

Grantaire could only trust that Enjolras would not make Éponine's life harder than it already was.

 **x**

Three calls. Two texts. One hour late.

Enjolras hated to think that he'd been stood up — maybe _all_ girls were notorious for lateness? — but after all his attempts to contact her had gone unanswered, he figured that it was a feasible enough conclusion. He felt like a complete idiot, sitting alone at the table for two that he'd reserved for them; the waiter, who he felt was a little bit on the queer side, had commented about Enjolras being 'too handsome to be bailed out on' a few minutes ago, leaving Enjolras to shift uneasily with his sweating glass of water.

Courfeyrac's dating advice was simple: play it cool. Although Enjolras itched to shoot Éponine another text to ask her about her whereabouts, Courfeyrac's warning to keep everything to a minimal rang in his head. "You don't want to come off as desperate." Courfeyrac had advised as he helped to dress Enjolras that morning. Enjolras had intended to consult Combeferre, but the latter had class, leaving Enjolras to trust Courfeyrac's judgement. "Well, I am sort of _desperate._ " Enjolras had grumbled, sifting through the clothes Courfeyrac had laid out. "Considering I've got a week left to get her to like me."

"Subtlety is key. You've got your looks to hook her in," Courfeyrac had assured, shoving a blue polo shirt at Enjolras. "Now, go hang this in the shower while you take a shower. It'll ease out the wrinkles — oh, don't look at me like that! Do _you_ know how to iron? I thought not. — _merde_ *, may God get us to graduation..."

Instead, Enjolras texted Courfeyrac, partly to look as if he were doing something, and partly to rant. Enjolras was midway in to his angry text about social constructs and women and their delay when the seat across him pulled back gratingly, and Éponine plopped down. "God, I'm so sorry," she huffed, obviously out of breath. "Valjean gave me some last minute shit, and I had _told_ him that I was going to meet somebody, but, of course, that gave him _more_ reason to drop me load..."

Éponine continued with her angry tirade, and Enjolras tried his best not to goggle. Something was... different. Nothing drastic, of course — Enjolras figured that she had merely fixed her hair and put on some make-up — but she was wearing a dress, too; it fit her nicely, and was a fresh change from the baggy clothing he'd seen her in over the past two days.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Enjolras shook his head slightly. "Ah, well —" he let out small cough. "You look..." Enjolras couldn't quite find the right word. Éponine grinned nonetheless, this Cheshire-like smile taking over her face as she gently rested her chin in her hand. "You don't clean up so bad yourself, pretty boy." she teased, and Enjolras smiled back at her. He glanced down at his phone and hit back space on what he'd been typing out for Courfeyrac.

"Oh, and, I hope you don't mind, but I think I forgot my wallet at home..."

"It's on me." Enjolras answered promptly, the smile on his face feeling a little stiffer.

He may have deleted his text to Courfeyrac a little too soon.

 **x**

Éponine hadn't even _seen_ Valjean that morning. She'd sent the professor a text that she had a date with Enjolras, and he had called her up — screaming over the line about her progress — and had demanded her to visit Azelma and Cosette for a make-over. The two girls had been happy to oblige. Cosette had put Azelma in charge of raiding their closet while the former was on make-up duty.

"We want you to look as though you prepared for this, but not that you tried too hard for it." Cosette had said with a click of her tongue as she dabbed at Éponine's cheeks. When Cosette commanded her to close her eyes, she reluctantly obliged. "Don't worry, just a little bit of something on the eyes. But, yes, subtlety is key."

"What's the plan for today's date?" Azelma had called out from her wardrobe search. "Be unfashionably late, first off." Éponine answered. "And when I get there, I plan on ordering the most _expensive_ things on the menu. Let him pay for everything." A small cackle came from Azelma's direction. "Testy, testy." she popped out then, holding a slutty white number for them to see. "No." Cosette and Éponine simultaneously said, sending Azelma back in to the dresser. "What else?"

"Talk about me, me, and me." Éponine enumerated. "Flirt with the waiter." Cosette suggested. A small laugh hiccuped out of Éponine. "Ooh, that's gold. Perhaps I'll take him to a bar afterwards, and I'll flirt with everyone there, too."

"No, take him to the _movies._ " Azelma had prodded, marching up to them with _the_ dress in hand. Cosette stepped back to admire her handiwork. "That dress is perfect." she told Azelma. "But why ever the movies?"

Éponine had gotten so caught up laughing and plotting with Azelma and Cosette that she'd lost track of time. When she came running up to Enjolras, her apologies were sincere (she'd only intended to be thirty minutes late, at most) — but her alibi wasn't quite the truth. Thankfully, Enjolras didn't prod. They ordered — Éponine picking the most costly main course and desert available — and proceeded to talk; just as Éponine planned; mostly about herself.

She'd expected Enjolras to be miffed throughout their lunch, but he was quite attentive. He spoke very little but listened well; whenever he _did_ say something, it was a question about what she was saying. Éponine was thankful for their waiter coming with the bill, because she'd run out of things to say. "Say, have I seen you somewhere before?" Éponine said to the server, batting her eyelashes ever so slightly. Enjolras was shooting her a curious look, and the waiter refused to meet Éponine's eyes. "I don't think so, ma'am." he answered in a standoffish tone. Not giving up so easily, Éponine cocked her head to one side and pouted. "I'm quite certain I wouldn't forget someone so attractive." she insisted.

The waiter finally looked her dead in the eye. "Maybe we've met at a Pride March. I'm always the one with the rainbow face paint." he said, deadpan.

Éponine swallowed the lump in her throat and leaned back in to her chair, grabbing her glass and sipping her water to hide her shame. Enjolras, obviously amused, looked as though he were holding back laughter. "Shall we?" he offered once they'd both calmed down a bit, and Éponine nodded. "How does a movie sound to you?" Éponine offered. "There's this theater downtown that I've been dying to go back to."

 **x**

That's how Enjolras ended up in a movie house showing a re-run of _When Harry Met Sally..._ with Éponine happily munching away at her butter popcorn at his side. He had no idea what the movie was about, but Éponine had assured him that it was her favorite, and he ended up shelling out money for the tickets and a couple of snacks. He hadn't anticipated girls to be so expensive.

"Thanks for agreeing to this." Éponine whispered to him. The characters on-screen were arguing about whether a girl and a boy could be friends, and Enjolras was trying his best to not fall asleep. "Whatever makes you happy, _mon amour._ " he said back softly. Éponine began to trace lazy circles on Enjolras' knee with her free hand, distracting Enjolras ever so slightly. Midway in to the movie, she'd reclined completely in to him; her head on his shoulder, her body leaning against his; and Enjolras couldn't quite move. (Couldn't quite _breathe,_ even.) She was so intent in watching the film that Enjolras tried to pay attention, too, but her fingers were trailing a little too high, a little too close to home...

"Éponine." Enjolras choked out, barely able to hide the strain in his voice. He'd never had a girl so close to him before, and his body — a fucking _traitor_! — was, for simpler terms, _reacting_. "Shhh," Éponine mumbled sternly. "I'm watching."

And she was, really; her eyes didn't leave the screen for a moment; but her hands weren't as focused. Enjolras' breathing hitched at how tantalizingly slow her fingers were. Two articles of clothing weren't enough to keep his face from flushing. Her touch brushed against his member, and he lurched in surprise. Éponine was off of him within seconds, her face bearing no expression towards Enjolras' reaction. She seemed hell-bent on enjoying the movie to the point that she merely nodded when Enjolras excused himself to go to the bathroom.

He splashed his face with water, glaring at himself in the mirror. His heart was skipping in his chest and blood was buzzing in his ears. " _La vache._ **" he cursed quietly, trying to wash out the redness in his cheeks. This is where his inexperience got him — turned on by a hand on his leg. Courfeyrac would die of laughter if he ever found out.

When he got back to her, Éponine didn't lay a single finger on him, which felt inexplicably worse. The light contact had left Enjolras shifting uneasily in his seat, and that she had withdrawn her touch so suddenly was nothing short of frustrating. She only acknowledged him once the movie was through; the Harry bloke had admitted that he loved Sally, the typically cliché romance film ending; her smile sickly sweet. She knew exactly what she had been doing, and it made something inside of Enjolras crackle.

"Wasn't that a great movie?" she purred.

"Absolutely riveting." Enjolras breathed out, and Éponine threw her head back with laughter.

 **x**

"This is me." Éponine nodded in the direction of the Gorbeau House. She wasn't quite sure how it looked like to Enjolras — the Gorbeau was much like the TARDIS; bigger on the inside — but it didn't really matter. Without her parents hounding her, the Gorbeau was the perfect escape from the lifestyle she'd tried so hard to turn away from.

Enjolras gave the apartment a once-over before glancing down at Éponine, eyebrows raised. "I know it's not like the fancy mansion or clean little apartment you live in, bourgeois boy," Éponine said defensively. "But..."

"It's home." Enjolras finished, smiling kindly. "I was merely wondering how you can fit a family of three in there — you mentioned your sister and your brother earlier, remembered?" Éponine softened at the mention of her siblings. "Well, Azelma lives on campus with Cosette, so technically, it's just me and Gavroche here." she explained. "I would invite you in, but it really _is_ a mess in there."

Enjolras let out a chuckle, rocking on his heels. "Understood. Thank you for today, Éponine." "Thank _you_." she replied, looking up at Enjolras. "It's been a while since I've had a day like this."

"When was the last?" Enjolras wondered aloud, and Éponine's mouth curled in to a smirk. "I'll tell you next time." she promised.

"Ah, so I'll be having a 'next time'?" Enjolras said, leaning against the wall of the Gorbeau with his arms crossed over his chest. Éponine was quite tempted to do something, then — with the way Enjolras looked, all dressed up — but she held back, on account of how it was so much _fun_ to torment him. She decided she'd dedicate a whole day to discomfort by affection. "If you want a next time, there will be one." Éponine answered nonchalantly. "I would." Enjolras said, his voice low, and something inside of Éponine fluttered at how serious he was.

Her instincts kicked in, and she backed away. "Well, I'll call you?" she offered, irked at how high-pitched her tone came out. If Enjolras noticed, he didn't let on — he merely pulled himself to his full height and flashed her another one of those wide, bright smiles; the one Éponine, if she had been naïve and sincere, would have assumed he reserved solely for her. "I'll be waiting." Enjolras teased.

Éponine merely nodded in return, afraid that if she opened her mouth, whatever was trembling inside of her would betray her.

* * *

* _Merde_ — Shit.  
** _La vache_ — Oh, crap.


End file.
